


fading into darkness

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Cris is injured on the field after taking a somewhat serious hit for Kaká, leading to some revelations and angst and denial. (This takes place a little after Mou becomes coach, etc?)</p><p>EDIT: Repost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fading into darkness (part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever writing a fic. The amazing runandtelldat (from lj) was my first beta (formally, so to speak) and really helped me with this (especially with dialogue). I do not own either of these very fine gentlemen, they are with Real Madrid and belong to themselves.
> 
> Warning: Some language and abuse of italicization.

A second of complete silence passed by in a flash.

Then, he felt his eardrums pop from the deafening roars from all around the Bernabé _u_.

Maybe it's just him, but everything seemed to be going in slow motion.

He was trying so hard just to breathe, but his honest attempts came out just so pitifully—sharp, short, rapid little gasps of air that made his chest contract painfully and seemed unnecessarily loud to his newly pain-heightened senses.

He was already worn out from running, his feet ragged from dancing through step-overs, but now he felt completely numb all over.

Excruciating jolts of raw pain flared throughout his body causing the emerald-green color of the pitch to swim fuzzily through his clouded vision.

His body was trembling as he weakly slumped down to the ground on his knees.

Something warm and faintly metallic tasting trickled down his chin.

Vaguely conscious of whatever was happening, he lifted a shaking hand to touch his lips, leaving bright, crimson trails of blood along his stiff fingers.

Light-headedly, he mused that it was a nice color.

t reminded him of his old club, Manchester United ( _good Old Trafford_ ), that still managed to leave a pleasant feeling in his gut.

He barely registered the frantic calls of his name echoing fiercely throughout the stadium.

He could see people were looking at him, obviously really worried, but he didn’t know why.

Even _"The Special One"_ looked extremely distressed, his mouth agape in clear worry, clear... _fright_?

(Which was an impressive feat in itself, he mused...José Mourinho really did seem like an unflappable person.)

It was beginning to get increasingly even more difficult, simply to hold himself up.

_He remembers seeing the field in a frenzy._

_He remembers Pipita scoring._

_He remembers making a nice, clean assist to Kaká._

_Ricky, like a force of nature, barrels into him and envelops Cristiano in the tightest embrace he had ever received, which speaks volumes, considering in the past, a combination of a clearly intoxicated Wayne, Rio, Anderson, and Nani once came close to suffocating him while they were celebrating someone's birthday._

_Kaká, however, is beaming with unrestrained happiness._

_It’s only after Cristiano starts making a few choking noises that Kaká slowly pulls back._

_Yet, he’s still smiling that infectious grin he always seems to possess, muttering a soft apology before gently clapping him on the back and running off to the others to be congratulated._

_At that moment, Cristiano feels like he’s on cloud nine._

_He almost forgets that he’s an utter fool for falling in love with his teammate—his closest friend who is happily married with a beautiful wife and beautiful baby boy of his own._

_Cristiano forces himself back to reality in time to see the other team somehow manage to score a miraculous goal that even the famed San Iker could not save._

_Regardless of the match’s results, Cristiano knows that later his captain will be fuming in the locker room._

_Too bad for Iker that the whole team secretly thinks his raging moods after relinquishing a goal or two despite victories are either adorable or hilarious displays._

_Iker is definitely not the only one more than a little pissed, however, when after a good few minutes of frenzied passing from both sides, their opponents manage to equalize._

_Fuck! The ball seems to be everywhere at once._

_He has to focus; his team needs him_

_Preparing for a full-on sprinting towards the goal, Cristiano glances at the other team's defenders only to see a neon-colored boot about to collide into an unaware Kaká, who is duly focused on getting the ball away from a very persistent rabble of opponents._

_At that moment, Cristiano’s instincts kick in; his body goes into autopilot._

_His only thought is 'Kaká,' and then everything hurts._

_It was hard for him to focus on his surroundings._

_His head slowly drooped down, and he saw the crisp, angelic white of his uniform marred by dark crimson._

_His eyelids fluttered closed, despite his best efforts to keep them open._

_He felt his knees give way as he fell softly to the ground with a quiet thud._

_His head was pounding painfully._

_For the brief second before he lost all consciousness, Cristiano could feel long, strong fingers clutching at him._

_He heard the comforting, familiar drawling voice of Kaká, right near his ear, babbling hysterically in Portuguese for Cristiano to be okay—for God’s sake, please be okay._

Then everything faded into darkness.

\----------

_The hot Madeiran sun relentlessly beats down into the streets._

_He is dribbling a football across the black pavement._

_His sneakers are worn, dirty, and probably too torn up to play in._

_He is still kind of small—nothing but an awkward, scrawny kid whose head is full of the brightest hopes and dreams for the future._

_He wants to be someone; he wants to become so great at football that his family can live in luxury and that little boys will want to become like him._

_Even though it's so hard being away from his island (away from his family), and some of the boys at Lisbon cruelly bully him, he will not give up._

_He will keep practicing until he is noticed for something besides his thick, "ugly" accent._

_He won't let anyone stop him from attaining his dream._

_It's burning deep inside of him, and he will never let it die out._

_He-_

Cristiano’s eyes snapped open, his heartbeat erratic as he woke from the hazy memories of his childhood.

He was surrounded by white: the wall, floor, even the blanket on top of him.

The light shining above his head made his eye twitch.

A movement at his left caught his attention.

Sitting stiffly in a chair at Cristiano's bedside was Kaká, who was staring at Cristiano with an unreadable expression.

The usually cheerful Brazilian's head was tilted down slightly, his eyes partially obscured by strands of his dark brown hair.

Cristiano could not help but feel a curious sense of déjà vu.

Right, he was in a place like this before when he was fifteen and getting the heart operation that would allow him to continue playing football—the operation that saved his life.

He was in a hospital.

Mentally, Cristiano cringed.

He was in a room, all alone with...Kaká.

The air was stale and bitter in his mouth.

Curiously, he wondered if he had somehow contracted a fever during his time there because all of a sudden, he felt his face flush almost painfully.

Good thing he was still tan enough from the warm Spanish sun.

Thankfully, it wouldn't be so noticeable.

His heart rate slowly returned to a normal pace as he cautioned another glance to his left.

 _Ugh_. Kaká was still watching him, still eerily silent.

Cristiano closed his eyes tightly before taking a deep breath.

"I feel fucking horrible.”

His blurry vision was adjusting quickly enough that he saw Kaká visibly tense.

Ricky was...paler than usual, and his eyes were red and swollen.

Just how long had he been waiting for Cristiano to wake up?

A little unnerved by his friend's lack of response, Cristiano nervously continued, "Hey Ricky...what's wrong? I should be the one who looks like he's about to keel over at any second. I don't even remember what happened but-"

"You took a hit for me. At first, we thought it only knocked the wind out of you, but the force of it was enough to draw blood. The impact from the kick caused you to hit your head pretty hard, knocking you out.”

Well, that explained a whole lot, actually.

However, it didn’t explain why Kaká looked like he was about to strangle someone.

Oh right, the game!

"So…what happened with the game? Did we win?" It would take more than completely blacking out to stop Cristiano from caring about a match.

"Karim scored the last goal; we won 3-2," said Kaká, albeit a little hoarsely.

 _Strange_.

"Good ole Benz, I knew we could count on him…” Cristiano trailed off, distracted by the hushed murmurs outside his door.

He looked back to see the chair Kaká was sitting on was now unoccupied.

Ricky was now leaning in close to Cristiano's face.

When did he even-?

"...Why?" Kaká's voice was oddly strained.

It was really starting to freak Cristiano out.

"Why what, Ricky?” Cristiano suddenly felt the need to lick at his dry, chapped lips.

He was never nervous around Kaká like _this_ before.

Internally, Cristiano was petrified.

He was trying his best not to mistake Kaká's concern as something _deeper_ , but Ricky was so angry, and so _achingly_ close.

This was beginning to be entirely too intimate for Cristiano's taste.

Someone who was just a friend would worry about him, but would shrug it off and laugh with him once he realized Cristiano was better, which he mostly was.

"Why did you do that?! What were you thinking?! Do you know how worried I was? I-" Kaká paused for breath, wild eyed with his cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

Seeing Ricardo with such raw anger in his eyes sent chills down Cristiano's spine.

Now Kaká was looming over him, his face so close that Cristiano felt paralyzed from his dark, fiery eyes.

The heavy, bewildered breaths coming from Kaká lightly caressed his face.

"You wouldn't wake up. You were lying there, on the pitch, bleeding."

“Kaká-" Cristiano attempted to inject some humor into the atmosphere.

If he could just say something stupid, everything would go back to normal.

"No, _listen_ to me," The pent-up, quiet rage in the Brazilian's voice stopped Cristiano from speaking or thinking any further.

"Never do that again. Do you understand?" There was an edge of danger streaming from his words.

Cristiano gazed carefully at Ricky's flushed face, his mussed hair, his dead-serious expression.

To his complete surprise (and Kaká's, judging by the older man's slight twitch), Cristiano reached up to gently ruffle his friend's hair, just like he would have done if they were fooling around during a practice.

_If Kaká was getting too close…_

The former Manchester United star began softly, "I'm sorry, Kaká, but I just couldn't help it, you know? I saw what was about to happen, and then...I'm here."

He couldn't help the slight smirk from gracing his lips when Ricardo's emphatic eyebrows arched even higher, in confusion.

"I guess...I couldn't bear to see you getting hurt. We haven't played together for a while due to your injury, you know." He swallowed.

"Do you notice it, too? We...have this connection on the pitch." Kaká was still practically on top of him and still quiet.

Cristiano took it as a sign to go on.

"You just...understand me so well. Believe it or not, it was actually harder for me to score knowing you weren't there to help me. Everyone else tries their best, I know…"

_But no one can really replace you._

"And you're not just some really, _really crazy_ -talented teammate to me," despite babbling like an idiot, Cristiano quietly congratulated himself for getting a small smile out of Kaká.

"...It took _years_ for other people to know me as well as you do. Despite everything the media spews out about me, you never took any of it at face value. My first day meeting you as a teammate was like all the other times I met you as an opponent. You just shook my hand, looked into my eyes, and _smiled at me_."

Kaká just stared at him.

Blithely, Cristiano was sensing some sort of pattern, but he was too tired to think about it.

His little emotional catharsis seemed to sap the last of his energy.

Like a stubborn child at bedtime, the Portuguese tried to force his heavy eyelids to stay open, but to no avail.

Cristiano felt the warm body leaving him, and was about to open his eyes and protest when Kaká softly spoke.

"Go to sleep, alright? I'll be seeing you when you're better."

Cristiano might have been more tired than he thought he was because for a fraction of a second, he felt warm lips gingerly brush his forehead.

\----------

He really was feeling better.

Two whole days was more than enough time for him to recover.

He felt that he was ready to play in the upcoming match, but there really was no need to mother-hen him like this.

Coach Mourinho was keeping a vigilant watch over him while everyone else was busy asking him if he really was okay, calling him a fool for not resting more, or, in Marcelo's case, trying to physically haul him back to the trainer.

Cristiano shook his head.

Wouldn't that shortie ever learn?

Iker, looking generally concerned on Cristiano's behalf, was frowning, but Iker frowned even when he was _happy_ , so Cristiano just assured his captain that he was absolutely fine.

Kaká, however, was glaring daggers at him.

Not good.

"Ummm...h-hi, Ricky?"

Why the hell did he stutter?

He had no idea why he sounded so damn guilty.

It wasn’t as if he had done anything wrong.

After all, he did recall Kaká telling him they would be seeing each other again when he was better…or something like that.

And, now he was better. Kaká's scowl disappeared as soon as it had appeared.

Now he just looked exasperated, and maybe slightly amused.

It was an expression Cristiano’s mother wore throughout his childhood (and a good part of his adulthood, if he was being honest with himself.)

He liked to believe that Kaká, like his mother, found his antics to be somehow endearing.

"Your dedication is really very admirable, Cristiano, but sometimes I really want to shake you until reason finally goes through that thick skull of yours."

"So...you aren't mad?"

Cristiano just receives a bemused grin and a light shove for his troubles.

\----------

After a day or two, Cristiano was given a full bill of health.

The match went pretty well for him; after all, he did score two of Real Madrid's five goals.

The other team only managed the first goal of the game, and then things went downhill for them as soon as Mesut scored for Real Madrid only minutes later.

Then, to the delight of the madridistas, the goals for Real Madrid did not stop there.

Though the match was decidedly a decisive victory, the walk to the locker room was an unnervingly soundless one.

Everyone could feel the tension in the air, practically radiating in waves between Cristiano and Kaká.

Kaká was stony-faced, but he usually was after he steps in to defend Cristiano from players looking to pick a fight.

Today was different though.

If Cristiano had not bodily dragged away a _way too angry, way too indignant_ Kaká, a red card probably would have been in their immediate future.

In only a few short minutes, they were the only ones remaining in the locker room.

The tension between the two had been mounting for quite some time.

Not wanting to stick around for the inevitable fall out, the rest of the guys were smart enough to leave quickly.

The unhelpful bastards.

But Cristiano couldn't really blame them.

He too had noticed whatever had been recently brewing between him and Ricky.

Lately, he had been catching Kaká looking at him constantly, always hovering over his shoulder, always being so _damn close_.

It was enough to make Cristiano want scream until his lungs collapsed.

What made it worse was that Cristiano was sure his best friend wasn’t doing it on purpose.

Ricky was being awfully cruel without even meaning to be, and somehow, that made Cristiano feel even guiltier for harboring such inappropriate emotions for someone who only cared about him like a good friend would.

It was far too quiet in the room, and Kaká was just staring resolutely at the hard floor like he could set it ablaze with just his eyes.

Cristiano's feet hesitantly stepped towards the other man, and he steeled himself for what he's about to do because what he needed the most is to know why their comfortable, easy friendship had turned into something so...unrecognizable and suffocating and completely and utterly foreign to him.

He tried so hard only to see Kaká as a friend, and he thought it was working so well…

"Hey, what was that back there?" He started off gently because although he's mainly really confused, he was far more worried about Kaká's current mental state.

Or lack thereof.

He lightly jabs Ricky on the shoulder, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Nothing. I was just annoyed."

But he's lying.

Usually, when Ricky was annoyed by random mini-mobs of players harassing Cristiano, he got an endearingly disbelieving look on his face, and his eyebrows would furrow in complete bewilderment.

Then he would step in like the gentleman he was and try to diffuse the situation peacefully.

That's how he always was.

It wasn’t as if Cristiano was watching him closely…on purpose.

Today, though, was not mere annoyance for Kaká.

Today, Kaká would have horribly maimed the first few people who looked at Cristiano wrongly.

And truthfully, he almost succeeded.

Cristiano grimaced at the very thought.

"If you're going to lie to me, at least put in a little more effort, Ricky. You don't know how much you suck at lying."

The statement seemed to startle Kaká out of his self-imposed brooding.

 _Fuck_.

Now Cristiano has to deal with being cornered against the wall by a suddenly incensed Kaká.

"You want the truth, Cristiano?”

Cristiano debated answering that question with some witty, smartass reply but sensed that it wasn’t the time.

“I don't want you to get hurt again. I won't allow it."

_He wouldn’t allow it?_

Cristiano was really starting to get disconcerted by this new side of Kaká who's almost too careful, too aware in his presence to the point of brutal obsession.

He missed the Kaká who was always smiling at him and regarding everything around them with warm eyes.

More than ever, he wanted his friend back, yet he couldn’t help but feel the ugly, searing stab of rage clawing at his heart.

"Listen, I'm not some little kid you have to feel the need to protect! I can take care of myself. I don't fucking need you to-"

He was cut off from his tirade as Kaká pushed him roughly against the wall and kissed him with all of the pent up rage and emotion he’d been holding in.

They finally broke apart and just looked at each other, breathing far too loudly, with Kaká's deft fingers still angling Cristiano's face to his.

Without a second thought, Cristiano shoved Kaká to the floor and fled.

He didn’t dare look back.


	2. fading into darkness (part 2)

The next few weeks Cristiano did everything in his power to avoid Kaká, not caring if it was extremely noticeable.

Their goal celebrations during games no longer had any heart, and he even spent whole practices skirting around Ricky.

The other guys looked at him with weird expressions.

It was mostly pity, he thought, but still, he didn’t care.

Later, Iker took him aside and asked him if anything happened between him and Kaká.

He lied, of course, saying nothing happened, but if Iker saw through his lie, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he gave Cristiano’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before they all packed up and left.

A few days later, Cristiano found himself alone outside when practice has long been over.

There was nothing unusual in him staying late; only, it had been raining for about half an hour.

He couldn’t care less.

Kicking a football in the rain while reflecting over his thoughts didn’t accomplish much, but it was sure relaxing.

When he finally felt like he couldn’t possibly move another inch, let alone have another rational thought, he slumped down near the closest wall.

His shirt clung to him, and the rain had most likely washed away all the gel in his hair, but he had never felt more alert.

It had been hard sleeping for him, lately.

If he hadn't already felt guilty and sick from having lucid dreams of too much naked flesh, phantom limbs tangled together, _and hushed moans_ , he definitely did now.

Since that merciless kiss, he was haunted by those sinful dreams every single night without any respite.

Cristiano wanted nothing more than to pass out into dreamless oblivion without seeing a certain pair of shining, dark brown eyes.

\----------

Cristiano jerks away.

He must have blacked out for a blissful, dreamless second because the first thing he saw when his eyes blinked open were the same dark, dewy set of eyes that had been constantly plaguing his mind.

There was a _warmwarmwarm_ hand lightly shaking him awake, and a jacket that wasn't his draped over his shoulders.

Absently, Cristiano noted that he was still clutching the soaked football against his knees.

"You're going to get sick sleeping out here like this."

It was _him_ , damnit.

 _It's always him_.

"And you're going to get sick by being out here, waking me up like this." Cristiano returns, just as easily, maybe a bit childishly.

Although it kind of hurt to be that close to Ricky, he missed their banter.

He missed his friend.

The rain seemed deafening.

Kaká starts, as if he had not been expecting Cristiano to answer him at all, which was so like Kaká to think like that.

Cristiano seriously needed to stop finding that adorable.

Ricky slowly grasped Cristiano's arms, as he would to placate a small, frightened child.

And, well, maybe his fight or-flight instincts were finally kicking in, but Cristiano was attempting, in vain, to get out of that firm yet gentle grip.

" _Please_ ," Kaká quietly choked out, "stop running away from me."

Ricky sounded so miserable and _hurt_ that Cristiano froze in place.

There was hand caressing his cheek and a thumb brushing against his bottom lip and sad eyes trying to catch his elusive gaze.

"You won't even look at me. I know you're upset about what did," And Cristiano could _feel_ Kaká’s eyes pleading for him to look up, "but I don't regret doing it because I love you, Cristiano." He breathes out. "I think I finally realized that in the hospital, when I was about to leave."

Cristiano's eyes were glued to him, at this point.

That soft kiss on his forehead in the hospital, before he slept, was not wishful thinking, _not a dream_.

The treacherous surge of happiness rising in his chest was intoxicating, but Cristiano harshly wills it down.

He has to for Kaká, who had a perfect family, a perfect career, and a perfect life.

He'd hate himself forever if he fucked everything up for his friend.

Too bad Kaká was pretty much doing that to himself without Cristiano's help.

_Just why…_

“I tried so damn hard to just see you as my friend. I even managed to convince myself that I was happy just watching you, _pining away for you_ like the total idiot that I am. Until you had to screw it all up! You just had to care about me, smile at me with that stupid, goofy grin of yours, _and kiss me_!"

Kaká looked determined, as if he was about to say something, anything to stop Cristiano, but Cristiano doesn't let him.

It was for his own good.

"It won't work…It _can't_ work for us," he says bitterly. "I'm not letting you ruin yourself for me."

He says this last part more to himself, more like a whisper, but judging by the pitying look on Kaká's face, he definitely heard it.

He untangled himself from the treacherous comfort of Ricky's arms, and then Cristiano runs until the mud made his new boots indistinguishable from the slick ground beneath his feet.

\----------

The next morning, Mourinho informed everyone (via Caroline calling him) that Kaká caught a bad cold and would not be available for practice for at least a few days.

Cristiano was aware of the eyes of all his teammates on him, waiting for him to react in some way, but he didn’t.

Only when he was safe from prying (but well-meaning) eyes did he think.

His chest was suddenly heavy as he imagined Kaká just as he had left him—crouching in the grass on his knees in the rain.

He must have stayed there for more than an hour or so.

If things were still the same, Cristiano would have wasted no time calling him.

If things were still the same, he would have driven to Ricky's house and played with Luca while Caroline took care of her _husband_.

If things were still the same, Cristiano would not have minded being in the company of such a beautiful, loving, happy family who would invite him to stay over for the night.

However, things were not the same, and he just can't now.

 _He won't_.

\----------

He got a text from Caroline, the day after.

_Can we please meet, Cristiano? I'd really appreciate it ;D_

He prayed to God that she wasn't secretly planning to murder him for inadvertently seducing her husband.

That winking smiley face was almost too suspicious, but he decided to meet her anyway.

\----------

In the end, Caroline came to him.

She was as pretty and gorgeous as he remembered.

"I know, Cristiano."

She's also as scarily perceptive.

"About what?"

She just gives him a pointed look.

"He loves you,"

_Fuckfuckfuck_

"and I know you're not gonna believe this, but I actually don't have a problem with it.”

Fuck!

He's panicking.

He could _feel_ it.

She was going to start screaming at him at any moment—telling him how much he sucked as a friend, as a person, as a-

Wait.

What?

"Ricardo is a good man," Caroline clasps Cristiano's hands in her softer, petite ones.

"We both know it, and he may love me and Luca with all his heart, but he also loves you too, Cristiano."

She has a contemplative look on her lovely face, but continues, "Maybe in a different way, but it is just as powerful as the love he has for us. Please give him a chance."

" _How are you okay with this?_ " And no, Cristiano's voice did not crack; that was just his throat acting up because of allergies.

 Never mind the fact that he wasn't allergic to anything.

The look on his face must have been so damn _pitiful_ because Caroline was looking at him as if she wanted nothing more than to hug him.

"He misses you," she says it so easily. "He’s been missing you for a while. How can I stand to see the man I love so miserable?"

Caroline must have been either completely out of her mind or the most selfless human being Cristiano had ever met.

It made him feel like even more of an asshole.

"I really like you as well, Cristiano. I can see why you're so popular, and Luca also likes you, I can tell!" She had the audacity to grin at him. "Truth to be told, I was a little mixed about having my husband being attracted to a such a pretty-looking boy like you, but I'm happy to say I'm over it."

He must have looked like a gaping fish because she gave him a friendly peck on the cheek and told him to _please visit soon_ , which he did.

Cristiano arrived at Kaká's house, nerves at the ready.

He was about to call Caroline and ask why she wasn't answering the door when he received yet another text.

 _Luca and I are going out for a few hours._  
I left the extra keys under the welcome mat.  
Have fun!  <3

So he was going to be alone with Kaká.

No big deal.

He clicked the key into the lock and cautiously pushed the door open.

As he pulled the bedroom door open, he prepared himself for the inevitable, but Kaká is sound asleep.

Cristiano had no idea why he was so relieved.

Anxiously, he hovered near the bed, chewing at his lip.

Not entirely sure what to do next, Cristiano watched Ricky's chest rise as he breathed.

Unconsciously, Cristiano inches just a little closer.

"Your wife is crazy, you know that? Or she's just a freakishly nice person—kinda like you." Cristiano muttered as he smoothed a lock of stray hair from Kaká's face.

"Idiot," he says, almost affectionately when he notices that _yes_ , Kaká did look a lot like hell because of him.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd get sick?”

He clenches his fist tightly at his side.

The guilt is sort of overwhelming.

"You know...it's easier to talk to you like this. I really don't know what to say."

Cristiano willed the lump in his throat to go down.

"I…thought I would be happy just being by your side, just being grateful being your best friend, playing alongside you. Then all of this had to happen."

He glanced down at the sight of his fingers laced together with Kaká's.

Ricky's face looks peaceful.

"And I guess...I'm sorry for being a coward and running away from you. It's not like I've never been afraid of anything before," he fiddled with his hair nervously. "But usually, I could overcome my fears. Face them."

And he usually could; he'd been through so much for most of his life.

"Hell, I even faced the wrath of an entire country!* But...I couldn't with you, though. I was terrified. Still am, to be honest.”

“But there's no need to be." A hoarse, but extremely recognizable voice interrupted him.

Hazy eyes glanced at his paralyzed body.

Before Cristiano knew what was happening, he face-planted into a firm, warm chest as he was dragged down into the cozy covers.

There were arms around him in a reassuring embrace.

Kaká was nuzzling the top of his head.

"So," Cristiano spoke into a lean collarbone, “were you awake the whole time I was talking?"

"Yeah, I thought it'd be more comfortable for you if you thought I was asleep, and I was right."

He had the nerve to grin.

He actually had the _nerve_ to _grin_.

Cristiano couldn’t see it, but he could feel it.

In retaliation, Cristiano bit the insufferable man's neck, and did not feel bad at all when Kaká yelped.

"If I stay with you, I'm gonna catch your cold and Mourinho will kill the both of us!"

Cristiano couldn’t help but whine petulantly, after a while.

He had heard rumors about his fellow Portuguese, _José Mário dos Santos Félix Mourinho, "The Special One_."

He hoped none of them were true, for both their sakes.

But just in case, Cristiano would make sure that all of his water bottles and gum were hidden away safely.

"Nah, he won't,"

At this, Cristiano had to raise a questioning eyebrow because _really_?

Kaká simply shifted closer to him and whispered into his ear,"At the most, he's gonna put me in less games and _revoke your tanning privileges_."

Cristiano made a frustrated noise before he attempted to smother himself with a nearby pillow.

"You jerk," mumbled Cristiano from somewhere underneath said pillow; it was hard to tell from where, really.

"You're a horrible man, and I have no idea why I love you." He managed to sound truly affronted, but at the same time, Cristiano has never been happier these past, painful weeks.

Long fingers snatched his pillow back before lazily stroking his hair.

“You love it."

That was just so _lame_ and _cheesy_ and _Kaká_ , that Cristiano found himself at a loss for words.

With a shrug, he did what he’d wanted to do for countless weeks and initiated a kiss.

It was languid and soothing, and they pulled away with flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

More than content, they fall asleep in each other’s embrace.

\----------

Caroline giggling stirred them awake.

Apparently, she was taking photos of them to post on _Twitter_.

She and Luca had returned just a few minutes ago, and she stumbled upon the two of them curled together.

 _Of course_ , she had to take pictures.

"Wh-what would you have done if we were naked?!"

Cristiano pretty much squawked out indignantly, face on fire.

He now knew that the woman was completely and utterly _insane_.

"Then the photos would have gone to my private collection." She said without missing a beat, as if that was a question she was more or less used to answering by now.

Kaká visibly paled, and a very satisfied Caroline eventually left them to their own devices.

But not before she gave both Ricky and Cristiano a cheeky wink before shutting the door.

Not quite sure how they were supposed to respond to that, they sat in stunned silence.

Kaká coughed awkwardly, and began to speak. "I'm really sorry about that," he took Cristiano's hand in his slightly larger one, "but, um, if it's any consolation, I'll make sure to lock the door next time."

Just then, something crawled from under the bed.

It was Luca, making cooing noises.

Holding his breath, Kaká uttered a single word.

" _Jesus._ "

Cristiano failed to stifle his smirk, and only a second later; he was doubled over with laughter.

Kaká disappeared with Luca gleefully flailing in his arms, but soon returns, eyes glinting menacingly, to mercilessly tickle Cristiano into submission.

For the first time in a long time, Cristiano was truly happy.

They play _FIFA 10_ until Caroline calls them for dinner.

\----------

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hell, I even faced the wrath of an entire country!*..."-this refers to the aftermath of the Rooney Red Card incident.
> 
> ...Can you tell I find Iker to be realllllly endearing/amusing? Haha!


End file.
